


to write you a song

by aiviloti



Series: nocturne [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: A LOT of Angst, Angst, But also there's a SEQUEL and the sequel has a happy ending, Childhood Friends, Childhood friends to lovers to exes to lovers to exes again to strangers, Fluff, Getting Back Together, Getting Together, Iwaoi from childhood to graduation, M/M, Some Fluff, Songfic, Sort Of, Unhappy Ending, breaking up, breaking up again, canon compliant-ish but Iwaizumi does music, spoilers ahead lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-10
Updated: 2020-08-10
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:01:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25823302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aiviloti/pseuds/aiviloti
Summary: “If I say no will you cry?”Oikawa’s heart sinks. He prides on being able to tell most of the time when Iwaizumi is joking, but with his features now twisted with aggressive chewing, he’s not so sure. "If you say no I'm not going to know what to do with all of this, these feelings. I’m not going to know how to go back after coming here, after being exposed to what we can be.”“Yeah?”He nods. “But I don’t want you to say yes because I want you to, I want you to say yes because you want it as much as I do.”Iwaizumi and Oikawa across the years, in which Iwaizumi has always known love, but more so in the form of volleyball, music, and as he would one day grow to realise, a particular brand of warmth called Oikawa Tooru.Oikawa has also always known love, but sometimes it does not ring as loudly as the lingering fear that lurks.
Relationships: Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru
Series: nocturne [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1873690
Comments: 31
Kudos: 159





	to write you a song

**Author's Note:**

  * For [whysosearius](https://archiveofourown.org/users/whysosearius/gifts).



> Based on the song 好好（想为你写一首歌） by 五月天(Mayday!! Light of my life!!) that you kind find here: [ [Spotify](https://open.spotify.com/track/1Rxn57Wwv6hQUu60MIiMMJ?si=Z3znhJ8nSLm057Hk9FaA8w) | [Youtube](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HxIct0i-CcA) ]
> 
> This is part of a series, though it's something that can be read on it's own. I hope this fic here that's incredibly dear to my heart is something you'll enjoy too!
> 
> This is for [Sirius](https://twitter.com/whysososearius) who keeps sliding into my dms and going okAY WHAT IF-

(i) iwaizumi hajime.

想把你写成一首歌 想养一只猫 I want to write you into a song, to get a cat

想要回到每个场景 拨慢每只表 To return to every scene together, to slow down time

***

Iwaizumi Hajime has always known love, but more so in the form of volleyball and music.

“What do you wanna be when you grow up, Iwa-chan?”

They are ten, sprawled on a grassy hill, slightly panting from their 3 hours of volleyball practice — Oikawa’s current fixation that Iwaizumi had grudgingly gone along with. With their current ability as a week-long volleyball player, what they were doing more resembled volleyball chasing than volleyball practice, but Oikawa looked happy about whatever this was. Iwaizumi knows Oikawa who is less than happy to be a solid pain in the ass. He’s not going to complain.

“Me?” Iwaizumi raises an eyebrow. “There’s so much I’ve never experienced, how would I know?”

“There must be _something_ you like?” Oikawa insists, his eyes fixed on the clouds hanging in the sky as he tosses the ball upwards. “I’m going to be a volleyball player when I grow up,” he declares, catching the ball in his hands, and repeating the movement again.

“You change that every week,” Iwaizumi snorts. “You said you wanted to be an astronaut just last week.”

“It’s for real thi-”

“And you said you wanted to be a pilot the week before.”

“That was ju-”

“And the week before that it was a model, because you say you’re going to grow up to be prettier than everyone else.”

Oikawa shuts up, but the sound of the ball thrown into the air fills the gaps between their silence easily, and Iwaizumi notes how steady and controlled the tosses are, even though Oikawa was completely new at the sport.

“I’m going to grow up to be a volleyball player, whether you believe or not,” Oikawa says, not looking at him. “And you, I think you’re going to get good at volleyball, but you’re gonna run off when you grow up to play bass, or sing or something.” 

“What,” Iwaizumi chokes, turning on his side to look at his friend. “Why?”

“You’re always humming something, don’t you realise? You like music. You could totally grow up to be a pop singer, I can see it.”

“I don’t know,” Iwaizumi exhales. “Sometimes you see things and you feel things, and you don’t know how to put them into words, y’know? Music is the thing in between.”

“Hah, I’d channel them into volleyball and smack it across the net,” Oikawa says, perking up and continuing, “Like this!”

He wasn’t joking. Oikawa does it - smack the ball across the net - except, they are on the peak of a hill, and there are no nets of any kind in sight. Iwaizumi’s eyes widen as he watches the ball fly.

“Idiot,” he says, punching Oikawa. “What did you do that for, now we have to go get it,” He complains, but he’s already on his feet before the sentence ends. 

Unfazed by the punch, Oikawa smirks. “Race you to the ball?”

 _Words are overrated. Sometimes you see things and you feel things, and you don’t know how to put them into words. Music is everything in between_ , Iwaizumi thinks. He doesn’t know what to express this thing he’s feeling in words, but in his head there are melodies that ring, as he watches the ball fly, and he watches his best friend fly after it in a giddy pursuit.

So Iwaizumi flies too, chasing this ball, this song, this person.

Iwaizumi has always known love, but more so in the form of volleyball, music, and as he would one day grow to realise, a particular brand of warmth called Oikawa Tooru.

* * *

(ii) iwaizumi hajime.

我们在小孩和大人的转角 盖一座城堡 We build castles between the corners of childhood and adulthood

我们好好 好到疯掉 像找回失散多年双胞 So good with each other, so good together that we go mad, like finding a long lost twin

***

“Let’s build a kingdom, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa says on the walk home from school, his eyes red, although he insists that he isn’t crying, and _what’s that Ushiwaka so smug about anyway, we’ll get him in high school_.

“What are you up to this time,” Iwaizumi grunts dejectedly, the wound from the loss of his very last volleyball match of junior high still fresh and stinging.

“We’re both going to Aoba Johsai, so let’s make a kingdom, a castle there, one so strong that we’ll storm past even the fortress of goddamned Shiratorizawa,” Oikawa says through gritted teeth. “We’re gonna train so hard, and then we’ll wipe that high and mighty expression off that Ushiwaka’s face.”

Iwaizumi halts in his step, and he looks up at Oikawa, who has also stopped in his tracks. The evening sun shines on them lazily, and Iwaizumi can see very clearly how Oikawa’s eyes are set ablaze with fiery determination. Something clicks in Iwaizumi’s heart. He can’t see himself right now, but he hopes the expression he’s wearing is one that mirrors Oikawa’s.

“Fuck no,” he says, smiling in spite of himself, gaining a look of surprise from Oikawa. “You said we’re gonna build a kingdom, so we’re gonna train a whole army of first rate soldiers, and then we’re gonna take Ushijima down,” he watches the creases Oikawa’s brows smooth out, the ghost of a smile on his lips, “together.”

Oikawa lowers his head, starting to walk again, and Iwaizumi follows close. “Of course,” Iwaizumi hears him murmur. “The strongest six win, don’t they?”

“That’s right. If you try to go overboard with the practice I’ll kick you in the ass. I promise.”

The sun sets before the two manage to reach home, but the light in their eyes doesn’t dim, the promise of working towards something together, the promise of companionship through thick and thin stoking the fires in their hearts. 

Iwaizumi hears the ghost of a melody ring in his head, and he easily finds a bass line for this familiar melody that hadn’t even existed until a while ago, the rhythms in sync with the footsteps of the two as they walked down the same pathway they had walked together for the past three years.

 _Let it burn_ , Iwaizumi thinks. _Let it all burn._

* * *

(iii a) iwaizumi hajime.

生命再长不过 烟火 落下了眼角 Life never lasts much longer than the streaks of fireworks vanishing from the corners of our eyes

世界再大不过 你我 凝视的微笑 The world isn’t much bigger than our smiles as we stare into each other’s eyes

***

“I’m not going,” Oikawa says, tossing the volleyball into the air over and over. 

“Oh, cut the bullshit,” Iwaizumi snorts.

“What?” Oikawa clicks his tongue defensively.

“You get into these repetitive loops of ‘I’m not good enough, I need to get better so we can take everyone down next year, so I’m going to practice 40 hours of volleyball a day until I die from fatigue and arrogance’ once every three days,” Iwaizumi says, making a terribly affected imitation of Oikawa. “Come on, people are waiting for you.”

“I don’t talk like that,” Oikawa says, a cross of disgust and hurt. “I don’t have to come with you, and you don’t have to keep doing this either, making me come with you just to make everyone else happy. I’m fine.”

They are starting soon, the fireworks festival. They have to leave now, or the two of them are going to miss the fireworks, everything. “You have five minutes to coax him,” Hanamaki had threatened. “A second later and you’ll be left there alone with one whiny Oikawa and no fireworks.” Iwaizumi is pissed off. This is something he has been looking forward to, and he refuses to let one emotional idiot ruin it for him.

“God, how are you so dense,” Iwaizumi snaps, hitting him on the head. “I don’t have to, but maybe I want to, did that get through your thick ass skull, you crappy, selfish guy?”

Oikawa blinks at him.

*

(iii b) oikawa tooru.

No one is really surprised when Oikawa joins the rest of Seijoh in the summer of their second year after saying he should be practising. No one is really surprised when they find out it is Iwaizumi who manages to coax Oikawa to join them either. 

Maybe except for Oikawa.

They’re sandwiched between mountains and seas of people, and yet Oikawa doesn’t lose sight of Iwaizumi. _Why me_ , he thinks, _why do you care even when you don’t have to_. He shuttles between people, always keeping the same distance between himself and Iwaizumi without having to give much thought to manoeuvring the masses.

Guess all those years of volleyball reflexes didn’t go to waste. He's glad he didn't quit at the appearance of every minor inconvenience in his past 7 years.

Iwaizumi still looks over his shoulder eventually, and Oikawa watches the anxiousness ebb away when he finds Oikawa. Oikawa gives him a nod, as if to say _I’ll be fine, I’m Oikawa Tooru, I don’t get lost in a crown of idiots who get overly excited about a bunch of sparkly chemical reactions_ , but his brain short circuits when Iwaizumi reaches for his hand and yanks him over to him.

“You’re falling behind, trashykawa, keep up,” Iwaizumi growls, his unusually deep voice sending waves through Oikawa’s heart. 

_I'm keeping up_ , Oikawa doesn’t say. _You don’t have to hold my hand_ , he also doesn’t say. He lets Iwaizumi lead him through the crowd, hands clasped tightly together. It is far too many things for Oikawa to comprehend at once, but he doesn’t question it.

They are already there when the firework starts, miraculously in a good enough spot to watch them bloom across the sky, a sea of sunflowers, cosmoses and poppies in the summer. Under normal circumstances, Oikawa would not thank Iwaizumi for violence inclined methods of bullying him out of the extra practice, but if the fireworks get any louder and dazzling he might cave.

Iwaizumi scoots over, and only does Oikawa tear his attention away from the fireworks long enough to register that they’re no longer holding hands. They don’t have to, after all.

They don’t have to, but maybe Oikawa wants to.

He slips his hand in Iwaizumi’s, and his breathing hitches when Iwaizumi lets their fingers intertwine.

* * *

(iv) oikawa tooru.

在所有流逝风景与人群中 你对我最好 You are the one who treats me the kindest in among these fleeting sceneries and crowds

一切好好 是否太好 没有人知道 Everything’s fine, or is it too fine, who knows

***

"What are we," Oikawa whispers one day.

After the day with the fireworks, many things followed — trails of kisses that linger, fleeting touches and giddy laughter of what it feels to be 17 with the boy he loves, and has loved for 7 years. There is no precise line drawn out, no elaborations on what he can and cannot do, where he can and cannot cross.

Iwaizumi is adding an obscene amount of tomato sauce to his burgers. Oikawa is wondering if he had even heard him when he speaks. “What do you mean?”

“What is this between us,” he gestures between the two of them, across a mountain of chicken nuggets and french fries. “What are we?”

“What do you want us to be?” Iwaizumi takes a munch on his burger. He has tomato sauce on the corners of his lips. It makes Oikawa stare, the red of the sauce that looks more like food colouring than fruit, yet alluring all the same. Maybe Iwaizumi’s lips too.

Not an affirmation, nor a rejection. A question. Open-ended. He already knows his answer.

“Boyfriends.”

Iwaizumi gives him a noncommittal hum. He offers Oikawa a chicken nugget. Oikawa pops it into his mouth.

“If I say no will you cry?”

Oikawa’s heart sinks. He prides on being able to tell most of the time when Iwaizumi is joking, but with his features now twisted with aggressive chewing, he’s not so sure. "If you say no I'm not going to know what to do with all of this, these feelings. I’m not going to know how to go back after coming here, after being exposed to what we can be.”

“Yeah?”

He nods. “But I don’t want you to say yes because I want you to, I want you to say yes because you want it as much as I do.”

“Then yes,” Iwaizumi says. “Are you going to cry?” he flashes a smirk at him. Oikawa sees red. There is still tomato sauce at the corners of his lips, and some on his teeth.

Oikawa wipes at his eyes, and shoves a tissue in Iwaizumi’s face. “You have tomato sauce on your face, stupid Iwa-chan.”

* * *

(v) oikawa tooru.

你和我背着空空的书包 You and I carry these empty backpacks

逃出名为日常的监牢 As we flee this prison of daily life

***

The alarm rings at 7 on a Saturday morning. It jostles the two out of a peaceful slumber. The weight draped across Oikawa’s chest is unfamiliar, but not uncomfortable. As he treads between the line of consciousness and sleep, he vaguely recognises this for what it is, and curls up further in Iwaizumi’s embrace.

“Why did we set an alarm? What are we supposed to do today again?” Iwaizumi mumbles, eyes shut. He doesn’t shove Oikawa away the way he would when he’s fully awake, but rather relaxes at the contact.

It must have rained in the middle of the night, or so the raindrops on Oikawa’s window says. The blanket is hanging on the bed by a loose corner, but cold is the furthest thing away from what Oikawa feels. This is good. This is all Oikawa has ever wanted.

“We said we were going to go for a run, and then train, remember?”

“It’s the summer holidays, for fuck’s sake,” Iwaizumi grunts.

“You were the enthusiastic guy who suggested it yesterday night, said we’re going to train everyday and take down Ushiwaka, remember?” Oikawa flips on his side to face Iwaizumi, who doesn’t budge. “Iwa-chan,” Oikawa pokes him in the rib, and Iwaizumi leaps up from the bed. The last traces of sleep have vanished from his eyes, leaving only fire behind.

“Crappykawa, I will kill you if you try that again,” he scowls, but it has practically no effect on Oikawa.

Oikawa laughs in feign shock. “Oh no, I forgot you were ticklish, Iwa-chan,” he purrs. “Can we finally go for our run now that you’re finally awake?”

Everything is perfect like this, the crisp smell of a summer morning, where their limbs are tangled together. Oikawa looks into Iwaizumi’s face, taking in how delicate Iwaizumi looks here, when his face isn’t scrunched into a generic scowl. Oikawa’s heart is overwhelmed once more by how much he simply adores this person.

There is a small voice in his head, one that tells him that anything can go wrong at any given moment, and there would be nothing he can do about it. _Shut up_ , Oikawa tells it. _Nothing’s going to ruin my day with Iwa-chan today._ He pushes this thought to the back of his head, willing it to disappear.

“Fine, asshole,” Iwaizumi snaps. It shakes Oikawa out of his trance. Iwaizumi stalks off to the bathroom, leaving one Oikawa staring fondly from behind, revelling in a typical summer Saturday morning with his favourite person in the universe.

* * *

(vi) iwaizumi hajime.

忘了要长大 We forget to grow up

忘了要变老 We forget to grow old

忘了时间有脚 We forget time has legs of its own

***

They make their way home on a path they have taken for years now, the same sunset that accompanies this winding path, the same wild flowers on the curb that bloom, wither, rinse, repeat. Maybe it is because of this, of how familiar everything feels, that Iwaizumi easily pinpoints what stands out — Oikawa.

Oikawa looks particularly sullen after leaving the counsellor’s room. Iwaizumi briefly considers letting Oikawa tell him on his own, but he’s only 15 minutes in when he finds the eerie silence unbearable.

“Spit it out.”

“Spit what out?”

“I don’t know,” Iwaizumi flashes him an irritated look. “You’re the one who’s looking like someone deflated all the volleyballs in Japan or something.”

“I do not!”

“Tooru, cut the crap.”

Oikawa throws his head back and laughs, not the tingle of bells in spring, but the kind that feels like a winter gale. “What do you want to do with your future, Iwa-chan? What did you tell the counsellor?” 

Iwaizumi’s eyes narrow at this very obvious attempt to deflect the question and to shift the focus, but he lets it slide. “Sport science, probably somewhere away from here. Maybe join a band in the meantime, busk, something. I’d like to come back someday and settle down, as long as-” he gulps, faintly aware he has never talked about any of this to Oikawa, “-you’re fine with this.”

“Me?” Oikawa raises his eyebrow. “You’ve included me into your future plans?” 

Iwaizumi’s heart twinges, because _what’s that supposed to mean?_ “Of course, dumbass. I’ll find my way back to you, always.” He tries to laugh it off. “Does yours not have me?” 

It was supposed to come out lighthearted, a joke, but Iwaizumi spots a tiny wince on Oikawa’s face, one that he would have missed if he hadn’t been looking intently. It vanishes as fast as it appears.

“Of course they do, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa teases. “I was just … worried about us graduating and having to leave each other soon, you know, something like that.”

“You’re not going to tell me what you said to the counsellor, are you?”

“Nope, but you can guess.”

“You’re going to join the V League,” he waits for a reply. It doesn’t come. “Well?” he prods.

“I didn’t say I would confirm or deny your guesses, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa makes a face at him, then sprints off. “Gotta go now!”

“What are you, eight?”

 _Me? You’ve included me into your future plans?_ The words ring in Iwaizumi’s head as he watches the light of his life run off into the sunset. He tells himself to not think about it, but the sight of the fear that lingers at the corner of Oikawa’s eyes sinks its claws into him. 

There is a faint sound of his newest composition that hums in his head, one of the many songs he has written for Oikawa. But it’s strange, for he doesn’t remember writing the ending part to be something so melancholic.

He doesn’t start the chase like he would have yesterday, or when they were both eight; Oikawa doesn’t turn back for him like he might have yesterday, or when they were both eight.

 _It's alright_ , he thinks, dragging step after step in front of this walk home. _We have time to sort this out_. 

But time, it tends to slip past. One moment you’re eight, the other you are eighteen, and the person who you included in your plans up until you’re both eighty does not tell you if they might have done the same for you.

* * *

(vii a) oikawa tooru.

最安静的时刻 回忆 总是最喧嚣 In the most quiet times, it’s always memories that are the loudest

最喧嚣的狂欢 寂寞 包围着孤岛 In the loudest revelries, it’s always loneliness that surrounds this lone island

***

_Step one of making a bomb, is to decide to make one_.

If you ask Oikawa when he realised how he felt, he wouldn’t have a good answer for you. His insecurities have coiled around him for as long as he can remember, but he also remembers training himself to keep these ropes that threaten to hold him and everything he loves hostage at bay. He’s not comfortable with them yet, but he’s safe for now.

Until he isn’t.

Maybe when your insecurities pile up on each other too little at a time, you don’t notice until it’s too late. Maybe when you see, when you remember to take action to tug at the ropes that went from accessories to binds, they already begin to choke you.

_Step two of making a bomb, is deciding a target to blow up. Deciding the target is a key element in bomb making, for it decides how big a bomb you should be building._

In hindsight, it was never targeted at Iwaizumi. All it happened was how he was the person in Oikawa’s direct vicinity the most, as well as the inflictor of said fears and insecurities. It’s not his fault, really it isn’t. But that does not prevent him from being the target, then eventually the victim.

_But if you know your target well enough, you don’t have to go out of your way. All you have to do is to hit where it hurts._

_Step three of making a bomb, is to get the raw materials you need to make one. Then make one._

“Okay so, the spring interhigh qualifier is this October, and _when_ we win, there will be practices that lead up to January for the nationals,” Iwaizumi sits next to Oikawa cross-legged on his bed. Oikawa looks at the calendar in Iwaizumi’s hands, one riddled with highlighter markings and circles.

“Mhm,” he replies.

“We graduate in April, and I’ll be leaving for Irvine in August. Since you’re still undetermined on where you’re going to go after that, I’ll simply assume all of this matches up. That means a four month gap in the middle.” Iwaizumi frowns slightly at the calendar. “We can find a job in the meantime, then maybe go on a trip. If you like we can go spend some time in Irvine together, so you at least know the place if you ever visit and-"

Oikawa stands up. "I'm sorry, I'm not feeling very well tonight, can we continue some other time?" He smiles at Iwaizumi, hoping he doesn't notice how it doesn't quite reach the eyes.

There is one look Iwaizumi only ever wears when he doesn't believe in what Oikawa is saying. He’s wearing it now. "Okay. Do you need me to walk you home?"

Oikawa thanks him for not calling out on him. "Nah, it’s near. I’ll be fine. Thanks."

_By step four of making a bomb, you should already have it done. Now you transport it to where you need to blow up._

"Oikawa, stop doing this to yourself," Iwaizumi snarls. He’s not wearing his jersey on this Saturday afternoon when he swings into the gym, crashing a practice session not meant for the third years. 

“We’re supposed to be on study break for now, dumbass. Besides, the doctor said you couldn't continue to practise for at least two weeks, or it could lead to permanent damage. Do you want to never play volleyball again for the rest of your life?”

There is only a vague sense of something off to the rest of the first and second years on the team, but too minuscule to make out what. Their captains usually got along very well. No one dares to halt whatever this is, scared of what could potentially be triggered.

Oikawa glares at Iwaizumi. "You don't have to babysit me, Iwa-chan," he says, dangerously quietly. 

"I wouldn't if you would stop being so fucking stubborn, jeez. We're going to the doctor's tomorrow to make sure your injuries are healing fine-"

"My injuries are healing just fine. I'm not free tomorrow anyway," Oikawa dares him to stare him down, sneering. "I can manage fine, you don't have to change any of your plans because of me, _Ha, ji, me_." The last word drips with sarcasm, every syllable enunciated in a way that meant something.

The best time to stop all of this was a moment before those words left his lips, but Oikawa does not have that anymore. The next best time to stop is now, before the hurt in Iwaizumi's eyes grows.

“We’re _not_ doing this here in front of everyone,” Iwaizumi murmurs, then lunges for his arm, dragging him outside the gym, outside of everyone else’s earshot.

Oikawa’s already gone too far, he knows, but he is filled with a fury and resentment for everything that exists in the universe right now. 

So he sets the bomb alight.

"Are you really okay with this,” he laughs. “Are you really okay with a boyfriend who keeps playing volleyball until he gets injured, who’s so more obsessed with the concept of excellence than his well being? Okay with writing a million songs for he who has nothing to offer you, to dream of Irvine and California and trudging across the world with him by your side when he doesn’t even know what he wants? How are you okay with any of this? How do you know any of this is what you want?”

Iwaizumi looks at him disbelievingly, like he might cry, even though Oikawa hasn’t seen him cry since they were five and Oikawa rolled down a hill.

Oikawa wants to stop laughing, but he doesn’t. He can’t seem to. 

_Step five, is to light it_.

"Say, Iwa-chan, what if we break up?"

_*_

(vii b) iwaizumi hajime.

Many things hurt, Iwaizumi knows. 

Volleyballs in the face, volleyballs on fingertips at angles they are not supposed to be, volleyballs bouncing off your arms at trajectories you know no one can hit, volleyballs on the ground, on your side of the court.

They never speak of that day again.

It’s a silent agreement that Iwaizumi doesn’t have memory of consenting to, and so he tries to defend his rights. The process of defending your rights is long and tedious, but it doesn’t feel right to simply let it go, not after too many tender gazes Oikawa gives Iwaizumi under the fireworks, not after all those circles he draws on the back of Iwaizumi’s hand far too gently, certainly not after he has the audacity to let his gaze linger on Iwaizumi and Iwaizumi _only_ even when there are so many other prettier things he could be looking at all this while.

He thinks of all the laughter, the memories, everything, and-

_"Say, Iwa-chan, what if we break up?"_

The arduous process begins in between many things that make Iwaizumi Iwaizumi, string noises on a guitar in the seams of chord changes, in the calluses on his hands from years of volleyball and guitar strings, in his usually steady voice that begins to waver as he sings, in songs that end in imperfect cadences, asking, _pleading_ for an end, an answer, an acknowledgement that ‘ _no, I meant all of it, it wasn’t a mistake, you aren’t a mistake’_.

It continues in between the many things that make Oikawa Oikawa, gaps in time between the sensations of leather on hand, in the long stares that loom with the ball in his hands, hurried tosses tinted with a sense of urgency to shorten these gaps in time, leaving no blanks for Iwaizumi to slide confrontations in. 

“Crappy guy,” Iwaizumi says again one day, frustration bubbling to the surface of his voice. “We need to talk.”

Oikawa meets his eyes, and Iwaizumi feels his throat grow dry, fully knowing how much that one glance encapsulates. 

Oikawa’s gaze does not waver as he stares into Iwaizumi’s eyes, but they carry so much fear. They are telling Iwaizumi _yes, maybe we need to talk,_ but _no, can we please not, can we never do it_. There is nothing left of the snarky, overly arrogant bastard that Iwaizumi has grown up with, then grown to love. There is only unshielded fear.

The feeling of rejection socks Iwaizumi in the gut.

He could push it, but everything feels as fragile as a thin rubber band now — take that last step and it will snap. Iwaizumi knows because this harsh fact is accentuated in the look on Oikawa’s face, so he grits his teeth and let the dull but still painful punches land on him, not stretching the boundaries thinner than they already are.

He ends up with nothing, not an answer, not an explanation, not acknowledgement, just nothing, and it leaves a gaping hole of nothingness that eats its way through him as he spends his last year at Seijoh.

Many things hurt, Iwaizumi knows.

Volleyballs in the face, volleyballs on fingertips at angles they are not supposed to be, volleyballs bouncing off your arms at trajectories you know that will not connect, volleyballs on the ground, on your side of the court.

Your setter treating you only as a spiker, a capable vice captain and partner, not the best friend who has loved him since he was too young to even know what love is.

* * *

(viii) iwaizumi hajime.

还以为驯服想念能陪伴我 像一只家猫 I thought maybe I could tame the yearning to keep me company, like a house cat

它就窝在 沙发一角 却不肯睡着 But it only nests in the corner of the sofa, refusing to fall asleep

***

Iwaizumi plucks at the strings of his guitar. He doesn’t sing, not today, but he already knows what words will roll off his tongue if he opens his mouth, if he’s not being careful enough to stop them.

Oikawa isn’t coming today, says he wants to practice more even if Iwaizumi doesn’t, and he’ll be fine alone, Iwaizumi doesn’t have to worry about him or anything like that.

Well, not like Iwaizumi hasn’t already expected it.

His chains of thoughts have been hazy for a long time now, and all he can pick out among the discord is the sound of someone shouting, always urgent, always tinted with a particular brand of desperation. They yell some more, and another voice yells over them, shutting them up. The squabble continues, and Iwaizumi thinks if he has to listen to them more, if he even has to _think_ for another second, he might die.

So he doesn’t. He’s too young to die.

He strums, and plays, not thinking of any songs in particular. He feels, and he transforms that into a language he can understand, one that comes in the form of low, steady vibrations, not a parade of shrill screaming from multiple voices in his head. Somehow, his fingers guide him, and the music flows, but he can’t help but note how as they go from chord to chord, his finger deftly avoids the major chords. It’s melancholic, and it doesn’t get it’s satisfying resolve, like something’s missing.

 _What’s wrong_ , he wonders briefly, _with imagining the possibility of another future with you? What’s wrong with thinking this can last, this could last?What’s wrong with loving you enough that even if it doesn’t I don’t want to give up?_

Iwaizumi knows what’s missing, he knows what he’s not seeing, what he’s not hearing, but the voices get too loud to ignore, and they drown everything else.

Somewhere outside his window, a cat purrs. It almost comforts him, almost makes him forget he’s feeling so alone. Almost, but not quite.

* * *

(ix) oikawa tooru.

你和我曾有满满的羽毛 You and I used to have so much feathers (on our wings)

跳著名为青春的舞蹈 Dancing this dance we call youth

***

_Dance with me, one more time_ , Oikawa thinks. He looks at the fire set ablaze in Karasuno’s eyes, and he fears for what this will be. He doesn’t say it out loud, for it feels like the words may attach a name to it, make it more real somehow.

“Let’s do our best,” Iwaizumi connects a fist to Oikawa’s shoulder. The touch sends tremors down Oikawa’s spine.

There is more effort needed than usual for Oikawa to keep his composure, but he succeeds. He smirks at Iwaizumi. “When do I ever not do my best, Iwa-chan?”

The whistle plays.

They dance, easing into a rhythm they have spent more than a decade perfecting, a three beat waltz, receive set spike, receive set spike. It is terrifying the same way it’s beautiful, and if everyone weren’t fixated on the ball, on pushing for it to connect, connect, _connect_ , the sheer grace and beauty of this dance may have taken their breaths away.

In the end, it’s Oikawa’s leap that doesn’t quite reach that ends this dance, the screech of sneakers on the ground that sends the flowing melody to a halt. The volleyball drops to the ground, and the conductor’s baton stops moving.

***

“We need to talk,” Oikawa says to Iwaizumi when they graduate. 

Iwaizumi flinches, but Oikawa’s resolve does not waver. He knows he will regret it to the end of time if he doesn’t say anything before it’s too late, but then again, for all he knows it’s already too late. 

But if he’s already lost it all, then he has nothing to lose. So he lets himself jump off that cliff, hoping his wings that he hasn’t used in a long time will still carry him across the valley to Iwaizumi, to his Iwa-chan.

“I loved you,” Oikawa says “Maybe I still do. Sorry.” He doesn’t want to look Iwaizumi in the eye because he doesn’t know what he’ll see. Sympathy? Remorse? Disgust?

Hell, he doesn’t even know what he _wants_ to see.

“Sorry for what, idiot,” Iwaizumi says, his voice strangled. 

“For being a coward,” Oikawa says, his voice barely a whisper. “For loving you while knowing you loved me and being too scared to go beyond that.” He steals a look at Iwaizumi when he thinks he’s brave enough to, but the hurt blatantly written all over his face sends a sharp stab to Oikawa’s heart all the same.

“Then why now,” Iwaizumi asks. “Why not then, why not ever, but now? Why now when you could have easily let it go and never speak of it again?”

“Because I didn’t want to regre-”

“Oh, so suddenly your feelings matter. Suddenly you want to talk about it.”

Oikawa doesn’t defend himself, because Iwaizumi is right. Oh, the irony of it all.

“What were you looking for when you finally decided to talk about this anyway?” Iwaizumi laughs, but there is no joy to it. “What even is this, you shitty guy? Trying to ask me out? Trying to reject me? A confession? What are you even trying to do?” The laughters gradually get louder, and then hysterical. “Whatever it is you are doing to me, please stop,” Iwaizumi says, but his tone tells Oikawa that he’s practically begging.

Oikawa winces. “You fell in love with a coward, okay, Iwa-chan?” He says gruffly. “You fell in love with a coward and this is all he can give you.”

“What is this, Shittykawa? A fucking negotiation, take it or leave it?” Iwaizumi doesn’t stop laughing, but a new edge of incredulity is added to the hysteria. “I can’t believe you. You didn’t even offer anything, asshole, what are you trying to _do_?”

“Apologise,” Oikawa says, looking at his feet. “I’m here to apologise.”

There is silence.

 _I’ll count to ten_ , Oikawa thinks desperately. _I’ll count to ten and if he doesn’t say anything, I’ll drop it._

He counts to ten. Iwaizumi says nothing. But he keeps counting. He counts to twenty. Thirty. He counts to a hundred, and still Iwaizumi says nothing.

“Well?” he asks meekly.

“Well what? Go ahead, apologise then, I’m not leaving,” Iwaizumi laughs, but it sounds more like anger than anything.”

“I’m sorry for saddling you with my insecurities, and then pushing the blame on you. It was never about settling down, or Irvine, or whatever the fuck. It was just me believing that I could never give you the world.” He inhales, counts to ten, then twenty, before he finds the courage to continue. 

“Can you forgive me?”

It takes a million years, but when Iwaizumi softly mumbles a “yeah”, Oikawa lets out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding.

“Where do we go from here?” Iwaizumi eventually asks.

“If you let me, I’d like to pick up where we left off.”

“Asshole, why are you always so fucking-” his breath hitches, “-selfish.”

Oikawa doesn’t know the answer to that. He agrees, anyway. “I don’t know. Maybe because you let me.”

He has a hunch that the sparkly texture in Iwaizumi’s eyes are tears, but he doesn’t say so. “Why am I so stupid to keep letting you, then?”

He lets himself hope. “Because you love me?”

Iwaizumi kisses him.

* * *

(x) oikawa tooru.

不知道未来 Not knowing the future

不知道烦恼 Not knowing worries

不知那些日子 会是那么少 Not knowing these carefree days were running out

***

Oikawa follows Iwaizumi into the room slowly, wondering what this is about. Iwaizumi slings the guitar over his shoulder, then gestures for Oikawa to take a seat. He obliges.

“I wrote you a song.”

Oikawa does not interrupt Iwaizumi when he sings. The Iwaizumi who yells at him, who calls him terrible nicknames that should not be granted the honour of even being mentioned, who was taken for granted by Oikawa’s selfishness and stayed for him regardless, all bubbled down to the rumble of the vibration of six metal strings that resonate from a wooden box and the love he pours into his every word.

Iwaizumi is always beautiful like this, Oikawa thinks, fully immersed in something he loves. For as long as Oikawa has known him, he has known this — how Iwaizumi does things all the way, and how Oikawa has been the one to witness all of this along the way.

He thinks of the first time they went for piano lessons together, how Oikawa was crying for the lesson to end 15 minutes in versus how Iwaizumi spent his turn looking awestruck at the music that comes from something as simple as pressing down a few keys. It only amplifies over the years, his love for music, his adeptness in conveying through music what words cannot as he now does, pouring into whatever this song for Oikawa is. A serenade, perhaps.

(“-Maybe join a band in the meantime, busk, something,” Iwaizumi had said a long time ago. _But how are you so confident in what you love_ , Oikawa had wanted to ask, although he did not in the end. _How do you fall in love, and know this is really what you want for the rest of your life, Hajime?_ )

The beginning of volleyball had been Oikawa’s idea, but it is easy to find that same glow in Iwaizumi’s eyes that mirrors the one he wears when he’s fiddling with his music. Oikawa is glad to be the one who shoved volleyball into Iwaizumi’s life, the one who gets to play years and years of volleyball beside him. But maybe it scares him too, the same way it happens with music — falling in love, then deciding to devote yourself to it for the rest of your life. 

(“Sport science, probably somewhere far from here,” Iwaizumi had then said too. _Why aren’t you terrified in what could change_ , Oikawa had wanted to ask, although he also never did. _Why do you dream for such beautiful things so far ahead, when any step in the middle that goes wrong can scorch the rest of your hopes and dreams into ashes, Hajime? Why do you dare? How do you dare?_ )

When Iwaizumi does things, he does it all the way, thoroughly. So really, Oikawa shouldn’t have been surprised when the same happens for falling in love, specifically falling in love with Oikawa Tooru. It is in the looks over shoulders he gives, in the gentle edge to every name he calls him, in the laughing fit he bursts into even when Oikawa’s jokes aren’t really that funny.

(“I’d like to come back and settle down, if you’re fine with that.” _I am, but why?_ Oikawa had never gathered the courage to ask. W _hy do you have so much faith for what this is and what it could be? What if it goes wrong and you’ve already put your heart into it? What if it hurts too much to be bearable then, what if you regret it one day but you’re bound to this naive promise of yours you made when you were eighteen? How do you live with that? How do I live with that?_ )

Oikawa doesn’t notice the fat tears that are rolling down his cheeks until the song is over, and Iwaizumi walks over to him.

“Are you okay?” he asks gently, the guitar still hanging from his shoulders as he stands right in front of Oikawa.

“That was beautiful, I love it.” Oikawa wipes the tears away, but somehow they keep coming. “Thank you,” he says.

Iwaizumi presses a kiss to his forehead. “You’re welcome.”

(Maybe he already knew what he was going to do all along. Maybe he was just struggling to believe there were alternatives, that he could settle for all of this and still be happy with it. Maybe he’s crying because he realises he’s simply been lying to himself all this while, and that perhaps in the end Iwaizumi is right all along. Maybe he’s just a selfish brat after all.)

* * *

(xi) iwaizumi hajime.

时间的电影 结局才知道 Watching the movie of time, only knowing at the very end

原来大人已没有童谣 That there are no nursery rhymes in adulthood

最后的叮咛 The last anxious reminders

最后的拥抱 The last hug

我们红着眼笑 As we smile with red rimmed eyes

***

There is a letter on Iwaizumi’s desk, that has been left there for days, untouched once opened. The only thing that stops it from following the breezes of wind that enters his room is a stray capo gently put on one of the corners, serving as a paperweight.

_Dear Iwa-chan,_

_I’m sorry. This is the most appropriate way to open this letter, after all. No corners, no sharp turns, only an apology._

_This is the furthest thing away from what you expect to hear from me, but I’m flying to Argentina tomorrow, a 5pm flight. I don’t know when I’ll be back, nor if I’ll ever be back, but I think this is what I’ve decided I want to do._

_I tried to tell you in every way that wasn’t this, but it never felt like the right time or place to do it. Maybe I’m just a coward. Maybe it’s good, maybe I’ll stop tying you down, and you can go ahead to do whatever you like, wouldn’t that be nice?_

_When you look at remarkable people from afar, you don’t really remember how spectacular their feats are, do you? You simply think huh, sure, there’s bound to be people who can do something as crazy as that out there, in a world so big. But you, everyday I look at your sheer brilliance, but I never got used to it, and now maybe I never will. Perhaps it’s the lack of distance, that I get to see you so close up and marvel._

_Say, Iwa-chan, why are you never afraid? Why are you never scared of all the things that could easily go wrong round the corner?Why do you do all you do with such ferocious intensity, faith, courage and love?_

_What happens when you get hurt? What happens when you fly too close to the sun, my Icarus? When you fall from places so high, doesn’t it make you wish you’ve never been there?_

_Perhaps you were right in the end. I am nothing but a selfish brat, who has too much to fear even when I have so little to lose, but this is the piece of shit you fell in love with, isn’t it?_

_I don’t have answers to these questions, my dear Iwa-chan, but whenever I look at you and the light in this world that you believe in, I feel like perhaps I do. Perhaps there are things out there that are worth hoping for, worth the pursuit. Perhaps they come in the form of volleyball and the Argentinian League, things worth the chase, and maybe even the fall._

_Yet, even with the light you bring, the stakes are still too high for me to bear, Iwa-chan._

_I can lose anything else after a chase, but I don’t think I’m selfless enough to drop everything and dive into this deep end of loving you, letting myself even dream of a concept as utopian as a future with you, a future so far away and riddled with so many intricately laid traps where anything can go wrong at any given time._

_So, say, Iwa-chan, what if we break up?_

* * *

(xii) iwaizumi hajime.

我们都要把自己照顾好 We have to take good care of ourselves

好到遗憾无法打扰 So good that regrets cannot interfere with our thoughts

好好的生活 And then, we live well

***

Time heals everything. This is a truth Iwaizumi has always known.

Yet, knowing a truth is not the same as feeling it in your bones. It is knowing that what you are waiting for, what you are expecting is lying out there, but there is no genuine conviction that it will really come. It’s not that Iwaizumi doesn’t actively search for recovery either, it’s simply difficult to unlearn 10 years’ worth of habits, that’s all.

Difficult does not mean impossible. This, however, is a truth that Iwaizumi feels in his bones.

The same way lost things make a point of not being found when you look, the path to recovery winds up in the most unexpected of places — a phone call from one Kageyama Tobio, who Iwaizumi was not even aware had his phone number.

“I apologise if this is sudden of me, Iwaizumi-san, but a friend of mine from Tokyo has extra tickets to a jazz piano fair and the person who he asked bailed on him. I remember you mentioning you play once, so my very desperate friend wants to know if you might be interested?”

Tokyo is a 90 minute shinkansen trip away. It is neither near enough to accept without further thought, nor far enough to pass up an opportunity this good without even considering it altogether. But he has nothing better to do on a casual weekend of May than to wallow in the memories of a certain somebody, so he accepts.

It is surprisingly easy to talk to Akaashi, even though Iwaizumi has never met him before the fair. They talk about volleyball (which surprised Iwaizumi at first, but in hindsight, he should have expected 90% of Kageyama’s friendship circles to comprise of volleyball players) and of course, the other love of Iwaizumi’s life, music. Performances by the professionals follow one after another, but when they end and the crowd disperses, the memory of laughter who belonged to someone that hurt to remember haunts him.

“The last festival like this that I attended was with my ex-boyfriend,” Iwaizumi muses.

“Ah, I’m sorry, is this bringing back bad memories?”

 _Is it?_ Iwaizumi wonders briefly. He shakes his head. “No, I think I kind of enjoy your company too.”

“The extra ticket was for someone who I had a crush on since two years ago,” Akaashi explains, not looking at him. “I confessed when he graduated and things got messy. He’s in your year. By then, I've already gotten the tickets and they weren’t refundable. I’m relieved you were okay with this.”

“Things got messy, huh,” Iwaizumi murmurs. He watches the pianist fingers fly on the stage, hammering out one piece after another, and _this is okay_ , he thinks.

There is an Oikawa Tooru shaped hole in Iwaizumi’s heart, and maybe there will be one forever.

People who are not him will keep coming and going, and they will never fill up that spot that exists only for him, but they will find different ways to weave themselves into Iwaizumi’s life, through music and volleyball, and other things Iwaizumi holds dear in life.

This is okay. He’s okay.

* * *

(xiii) oikawa tooru.

好好的变老 We age well

好好假装我已经把你忘掉 We pretend well that I have already managed to forget you

***

“What are you listening to?” Someone claps Oikawa on the back. He hastily closes the app, tucking his phone into the deepest compartment of his bag. 

“Oh, it’s nothing, just a friend from high school who sings sometimes. Is the break over?”

“Yeah,” his teammate stretches out an arm to pull him up. “We gotta go practice now.”

This is not Seijoh’s lockers, filled with familiarity and sweat. There are no teammates he has relied on for many years, people whose play styles are all deeply etched into the back of his brain, a pack of juniors who he gets to watch grow and flourish. This is Argentina, where everyone is miles ahead, where Oikawa is putting everything he has ever known to the test everyday, but loving every second of it.

Oikawa accepts the arm. “Let’s go.”

*

He has never spoken to Iwaizumi since that day, not through phone calls, not through text messages, not through the mutual friends he left behind along with Iwaizumi. Iwaizumi has kept his promise, a promise to make it out there with his music. They’re not all over the place, Oikawa can easily avoid them if he chose to, but someone he does not.

Some nights, he lies in bed and wonders if he regrets leaving Japan, if he regrets never telling Iwaizumi goodbye properly.There is a lot of tossing, turning and agonising involved, but at the end, he always refuses to let that chain of thoughts stray any further. So he puts on Iwaizumi’s music, in hope that this most familiar brand of warmth lulls him to sleep.

Come morning, he realises the worst part is not the leaving, is how he knows he does not regret at all.

Maybe the concept of chasing after what you love fearlessly will never sit well with Oikawa. But at least until then, he gets to sit here, half a globe across the person he loves, pretending to have forgotten him, and even if he hasn’t, at least he’s not within arm reach for Oikawa to tie him down, for him to scar and wound. He has volleyball, Iwaizumi’s music, and Iwaizumi’s happiness. There’s nothing more he would ask for.

This is okay. He’s okay.

**Author's Note:**

> God this was SO GODDAMN HARD TO WRITE it took me the entirety of may-june and then after finishing this I immediately broke out into high fever and passed out LOL so yeah, fun times (人*´∀｀)｡*ﾟ+ Translator note, the name of the song is 好好（想为你写一首歌）and the second part that's in the bracket is the title of this fic. The first part can be interpreted as fine, or well, or like very good/close w each other, and stuff. It can also be interpreted as okay/alright. So yeah, that last sentence.
> 
> Yeah.
> 
> I'm working on the third part of this series as of right now (it's massive atm lol) that I hope will tie this up! If you enjoyed this, kudos and comments are always a massive source of support for me to get the willpower to plow on! I am in dire need of validation as everyday the hill gets steeper LMAO and to say it is not daunting would be a large lie but with any bit of push from your way and you will be single handedly paving my path up to the very top, and from there (the view from the top, gasp) on we'll walk the rest of the way up together or something equally as cheesy yet heartwarming LOL <(￣︶￣)> Okay but in all honesty thank you for reading. Kudos and the like are always appreciated but if this sparks anything in you, that is already more than enough for me. Please take care in these times, and all other times. <3
> 
> You can find me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/aiviloti) and [tumblr](https://aiviloti.tumblr.com)!
> 
> Edit, SIRIUS MADE ART! NOT ONE BUT TWO PLEASE LOOK AT IT HKSFGSKAJ  
> [ [so say iwa-chan what if we broke up](https://twitter.com/whysosearius/status/1306640252493156352?s=20) | [why are you so selfish, because you let me?](https://twitter.com/whysosearius/status/1333440662931263488?s=20) ]
> 
> Edit, SOMEONE WROTE A SONG FOR THIS FIC CHECK IT OUT PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE LOOK [HERE](https://akemiiiii.tumblr.com/post/638777967242248193/to-write-you-a-song-aiviloti-haikyuu)


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